


Au Bonheur des Dames

by Melo_Mapo



Series: War & Peace [3]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Exploration, F/M, Fluff, Furiosa gets grilled, Max is a cutie, Max is feeling his age, Shopping Malls, The Wives ship Max/Furiosa, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: Max is not a spring chicken anymore. A trip to the Mall is in order.





	1. Chapter 1

The past weeks have been good, both Max and Furiosa are getting used to sharing a space together at night, but damn if Max doesn’t wake up with creaks in his back sometimes. Furiosa has a way of gathering all the pillows to her that leaves him sleeping on the hard surface of the alcove, feeling much like the sack of grains they probably originally hosted.

 

Something needs to be done.

 

Max makes a few enquiries here and there, discreetly. The Vuvalini and the Sisters don’t know much yet about the kind of supplies he’s looking for, so they advise him to talk to the War Boys. Max isn’t too fond of them, but his back can’t take much more abuse, and Furiosa would surely get cold at night if he were to suddenly start sleeping in his car again. Not that he want that either.

 

So Max goes to the War Boys. After thinking about it for a bit, he heads for the kitchens, where The Ace can usually be found. Max noticed Furiosa acts different with him, both closer and more awkward, and he is careful not to mention her name as he describes what he needs. But the guy narrows his eyes at him and says:

“You rooming with the Boss, yeah?”

Max has heard several War Boys call her that, and it always makes her look both endeared and guilty, so he guesses it’s what the team she betrayed would call her. That the older War Boy calls her that explains a lot actually. And even if it is a question, the Ace clearly already knows the answer, so Max just nods, hopping it is not blowing his chances.

 

The Ace stays silent a while, face unreadable, and finally says:

“If it’s for the Boss, it needs to be done well. There’s nothing good enough here.”

He turns around and hollers:

“Get me Sharp and Bambi.”

The first guy sounds like a War Boy all right, but the second? Do they actually know where the name comes from? Soon enough, two slender figures come trotting their way. With the end of Joe, things have been slowly changing in the Citadel, and the War Boys were surprisingly not that attached to their leader once you showed them how horrible he could be. How ‘chrome’ their new leaders are helps too, thinks Max with a smile, thinking about the War Boys’ fascination for the Vuvalini, the Mothers and the Sisters, and their gratefulness for a full stomach and decent living quarters.

 

The War Boys stop at a respectful distance of Max and the Ace. One of them is tall and muscled, with big brown eyes, and freckles on his tanned face and shoulders that make it obvious why anyone with a bit of the Old World’s culture would name him Bambi. The other one is smaller and slender, dark-skinned and with the chest scars that Max now recognizes as mastectomy. Seeing how the breeders and milking mothers were treated, he’s not surprised some kids born female made the choice to go into the War Boys instead.

“Bambi, Sharp, you’re gonna go to the Mall with Max here. It’s for the Boss. Take a vehicle with a flat back. Haul back the other stuff that could be useful here.”

If it had been the military, the boys would have saluted with a “Sir, yes, Sir.” As it is, they hit their chest with their right hand once, then head for the hangar to prepare a car.

 

“They’re good boys. Happy with how things are. Bambi’s the…”

“The one with the big eyes, yeah. And Sharp the smaller one.”

The Ace nods.

“Real good pair of brains together.”

That’s the endorsement that reassures Max the most, and he takes note that the Ace is definitely a lot cleverer than he would have given him credit for. After all, if Furiosa had picked him as her second in command, there must have been a reason. He is also by far older than any other War Boy, which tells Max all he needs to know. You don’t last long when you truly bought in Joe’s crap about a paradise waiting for you on the other side. The Ace gives him a few more instructions, informs him it’s their territory and there shouldn’t be anyone else around. When Max unfolds his precious map, the Ace helps him pinpoint the Mall on it, and then he’s off dealing with other stuff. The War Pup that came fetch him talked about a feud between two War Boys about colours, and Max has no idea what that is about and does not want to know either.

 

He is down at the garage now, looking for the two War Boys assigned to him. They are waiting by a pickup truck that looks a lot more practical than a lot of other vehicles he saw on the Fury Road. When they see him approach, they both get in the bed. They are armed with handguns and wearing light leather armour on their bare chests. _Someone really got to teach them about tee shirts at some point_ , thinks Max with a mental sigh. Sharp throws him the keys when he’s close enough and Max climbs in the driver seat with a groan. His back is killing him; this expedition really is needed. Two more War Boys on a bike equipped with lances are escorting them, just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

As promised, the drive is uneventful. The Mall itself is hard to find, and that’s why the Citadel has been the only local power to claim the area. Bambi came before though, and yells to Max when he spots a dune he recognizes the shape of. With a little digging, they uncover a plank on top of a hole. Their escort goes back to guard the car and bike, while Bambi single-handedly lift off the plank. _Well, I know who’s gonna carry the stuff on the way back_ , thinks Max. Meanwhile, Sharp brought a bag from the car that has harnesses and ropes. He starts ( _she_ starts? wonders Max briefly before remembering everybody refers to Sharp as a him), he starts equipping everybody, correcting the tightness on Max’s harness before deeming him ready with a “All chrome, Max.”

From anybody else, that kind of proximity would make Max nervous, but his Ghosts have been quiet today, and there is a no-nonsense attitude about the two of them, and the way they easily act as a pair that eases Max’s concern about closeness. The Ace really chose a good team to send him with.

 

Bambi, since he’s been here before, is the first one to venture down. He disappears in the darkness and a few seconds go buy before a soft thud and the slacking of his rope indicates he hit the bottom.

“All clear, come on Sharp!”

Sharp throws himself in the hole with a whoop, and Max jumps at the sound, reflexively diving for the rope in case it can’t take the abuse. But the slender War Boy knows his knots and the rope just tenses, staying well attached to the tailgate. There is a cry of “Historic!” from the bottom, answering laughter that diminishes in volume as Sharp lower himself to the bottom, and an excited conversation as the rope slacks. Max joins the two War Boys a lot more slowly and carefully. As he descends, his eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer light and soon the mall reveals itself, with its boutiques spread on several levels around a central patio with a high, domed ceiling. A wing caved in, the path blocked by rubble and sand, but the rest of the space seems structurally sound.

 

Max detaches himself from the rope but, like the two War Boys, keeps his harness on in case an emergency climb out of the Mall is necessary. They turn on flashlights and start exploring, Bambi leading the group. A short time later however, le constat est sans appel: most of the shops have been cleaned out already. Even the furniture shop is empty, the couches and other pieces probably broken down in order to be lifted out. Even the food court restaurants have been gutted to the last scraps of metal. Only the clothing & shoe shops, the majority of what is present in the portion of the Mall they have access to, still have summer dresses, sandals and heels. Max tries to imagine Furiosa in a pair of dainty red heels that are still displayed in the shop window and smiles internally. Even if she were to wear heels, she’d be more of a pump boots kinda girl, probably.

 

“So what now, Max?” asks Sharp when they are back were light from the hole makes the darkness a bit less oppressive. Max grunts, observing the pile of rumble blocking their way, the mix of cement, rock, and sand not something that can be cleared out without heavy machinery. It is a shame too, because behind the portion that caved in, the rest of the wing is probably intact and safe to be in. The War Boys are waiting on him, chatting in low voice, Bambi pointing out to Sharp the shops they went to and cleared out on their last trip.

“And at this one, we sorted cans of food. The ceiling broke there too, but less, so we sorted the cans and kept the good ones.”

Max snaps back to attention at that last sentence. He has an idea. He heads for the floor map, still standing there by the guardrail that used to give people a view on the central patio and its fountain. Max uses his sleeve to clean off the dust and studies the floor plan. The sporting goods shop is right there, fully cleaned out already, they checked. Max suspects he’s even wearing a harness that came from there. What interests him is that it is at the edge of were the hallway is blocked, and if the map is to be believed, there is probably a storage area in the back that makes the end of the shop some 300 meters away from were the ceiling caved in. It might be worth trying to get _through_ the wall to the Victoria Secret that lies on the other side.

“Got a plan, Max?”

Bambi is the one who asked the question. Max hadn’t noticed they had fallen silent, but they are now both attentively watching him. Max grunts and nods.

“Dangerous, though.”

They glance at each other and Sharp shrugs.

“You don’t know War Boys very well, do you?” he says.

Bambi grins and Max finds himself rolling his eyes. If the punks are dabbling in sarcasm now, where is the world going. The boys have gotten closer and are now studying the map as well. Max points to their position, then taps on the outdoor shop and points with his other hand to the empty shop near the pile of rubble.

“Here, in the back. We break the wall.”

“Ha. The other side, it is okay, maybe, if only this part is blocked.”

It’s Bambi who talked, and he is now studying alternatively the map and the reality before his eyes.

“Good luck: we get in. Bad luck, some rubble falls on us,” adds Sharp.

“Bad luck: we die _historic_ ,” corrects Bambi, and they both chuckle.

Max raises an eyebrow, and Sharp catches it.

“That’s a joke. With the crew. The Boss… Furiosa… She wants us to stay alive, never do the kamakrazee stuff.”

“Said dying is always the _worst-case scenario_ ,” completes Bambi, obviously quoting.

Sharp sighs:

“Turns out she was right, no? If Immortan can die, then there is no Valhalla.”

Bambi bristles: “Hey, don’t say that, or you won’t go.”

“And what if I don’t go?”

“Then we won’t be together!”

Even in the uncertain light of the flashlights, Max can tell the look they exchange then is quite heavy with meaning not intended for his eyes. If these are not physically lovers (do War Boys even know about sex?) they are at least a couple in the sentimental way, that much is clear.

When the silence gets a little heavy and uncomfortable for everybody present, Max clears his throat and says.

“You in?”

The War Boys both answer yes and follow Max to the back of the Outdoor Shop. The door to the storage area has long been unhinged and reused, and the only reason the shelves are still there is because they are made of crappy material. Thankfully, a portion of the wall is empty, probably the spot were a table stood. Bambi brought a big rock from the rubble pile and, after Sharp and Max stepped back a comfortable distance, he uses it as a very crude hammer to knock down the wall.

 _Remind me to not get on his bad side_ , murmurs a Ghost in Max’s head as Bambi makes short work of the task. Or maybe it is just good sense. Watching the War Boy handle that rock is impressive.

“Bambi’s so chrome.”

It is Sharp, awe in his voice. Max grunts his assent.

“Got the brawn and the brain, Miss Giddy use to say. Whatever that means.”

“Both strong and clever,” explains Max.

“Yeah, totally!” approves Sharp.

“But nice too,” he also whispers, a confession just for Max, and the man hears the rest, hears how it s probably tough to make your spot when you are smaller, less powerful, and when everybody around you has been taught to crush what is weak, even kindness. How finding an ally that appreciates you just the way you are is invaluable. He feels like that with Furiosa. Baring exceptional situations (blood in her chest, she can’t breathe, she needs blood), she does not need anyone. If Max wants to be sane, wants to be more than his survival instinct, he needs people. He needs her, really, let’s be honest.

 

He is to Furiosa what Sharp is to Bambi: the weak one to be protected.

 

“Hey, Max, Sharp!”

The dust is settling and Bambi is brushing off the white powder that nestled in his short brown hair. A similar storage area is on the other side of the hole, with the difference that it’s full of merchandise: lacy bras and panties are everywhere, some knocked down to the ground by the hammering and destruction of the wall.

“What the Joe are these?”

Max chuckles internally and says aloud:

"It's underwear."

"Under what?"

"Underwear. You wear it under your regular clothes. To avoid chaffing."

Furiosa wears underwear, but maybe the War Boys don't? 

"Chaffing where?" asks Bambi again. 

This time Max can't help snorting aloud, before pointing down to his own genitals. When they step in the store proper, the giant posters on the wall make it clear enough what goes where. Every pass of their flashlights reveals more garish lace and outrageous colours, and Bambi finally says:

“Seems like it would only make chaffing worse.”

Sharp adds:

“No space for a gearstick in any of these either.”

“Especially mine,” guffaws the tall War Boy, and Max did not need to know that.

“They make it for men too,” he explains. “More… ha… space.”

The rubble isn’t so bad on this side, and they exit the Victoria Secret through a broken shop window. It is darker on this side of the mall, and the air more stale. Where the previous shops, cleaned out of everything useful, had felt empty and safe, the profusion of goods and potential hideouts are making Max jumpy, and judging by the silence that falls on the group, he is not the only one. They make their way to the mattress shop on high alert. When Max pushes the door, something suddenly moves inside, and he barely has time to tuck and roll before a gunshot rings in the heavy silence. He is joined behind a couch by Sharp and Bambi, both ready to aim and shoot, but the silence comes back and nothing more happens.

“Who shot?” asks Max.

“I did,” answers Sharp. “Someone was aiming for you.”

With a sigh, Max directs his flashlight to where he also spotted a body. There, in the trembling beam, a mannequin is standing by the entrance, offering her right hand for a handshake. Her forehead and nose are missing, blasted away by Sharp’s bullet. _Quite a shot_ , thinks Max, _what with the bad light and the two seconds it took him to draw and shoot._

“Haha! You done shooting fake people?”

Bambi bumps shoulders with Sharp, mocking.

“Yeah, next time I won’t save you, schlanger,” answers the War Boy, grumpy.

“Good shot,” says Max, because it is. “Back to work.”


	3. Meanwhile in the Citadel

“So, how’s Max?”

Furiosa sighs and puts down the map she’s been studying. When she turns around, the Sisters are all there, and she realizes she’s being ambushed. _Better play dumb_ , she thinks.

“I haven’t seen him since breakfast. He’s probably working on that wrecked car of his.”

Max has been trying to repair the Interceptor, and it’s slow going. From the drawings of it he made, she has to admit it’s a sexy car though, perfect for a loner on the road. Now that she thinks about it, Max is a lot like his Interceptor: broken a hundred times but always rebuilt, a sleek, efficient design, one that can resist the Wasteland. They even have a common love of black. Furiosa wonders if he’ll let her drive the car when she’s repaired. Furiosa expects that when she’ll rev her engine, she'll be in for a ride, much like with the man himself.

Toast brings her back to the conversation at hand with a snap of her fingers in front of her face:

“See? That’s what we’re talking about.”

“See what?”

“You distracted,” explains Cheedo.

“But also you smile a lot more,” adds Capable.

“So we ask again: how’s Max?” completes The Dag.

There is faint excitement on their faces, and a lot curiosity. It dawns on Furiosa that they are asking how is Max _in bed_. Those women have no sense of privacy.

“It’s not a very polite question. What are we, Milk Mothers?”

Toast rolls her eyes:

“Don’t worry, we have better things to talk about than men. We’ll get to it too.”

“But before we get absorbed by the latest crop results, we want to know about Max,” says Cheedo.

“Well,” corrects The Dag, “about if sex with men can feel nice. The Milk Mothers blather but, it’s what they do. We trust you better.”

Furiosa reaches a second revelation: it’s not about Max and her, it’s about ex-Wives wanting to know from another ex-Wife that they are not ruined for intimacy.

“It… It feels… nice.”

The word is too poor.

“Fantastic, really. He’s very good with…”

Images of the morning flashes in her mind: Max’s head buried between her legs, two fingers scissoring in her cunt as he licks her to a second orgasm, grunting all along like he’s enjoying himself immensely, then… Furiosa gets back to the conversation at hand and finishes lamely:

“…his tongue.”

She feels hot, and nervous under the scrutiny of the four women.

“Ok, but you can do that with other women. How about penetration?”

At least, Toast never beats around the bush. Also, someone’s been trying out new things apparently. Judging by the way Capable is avoiding everybody’s gaze, Furiosa can rest easy that there is no stranger in the equation.

“Penetration can feel really good too. But you gotta get ready for it. Stretch yourself. If you can come once before, that’s good. Make sure you’re plenty wet. It’s gonna hurt a bit at first, so be the one on top, so you can control how fast it goes. Go slow. Hell, tie the smeg to the bed if you need to. And pick only men you can trust to be discreet.”

The Sisters glance at each other and shudder slightly. There had been a situation, in their Vault days, with Splendid and an Imperator. The guy’s car had crashed on his next raid, before he could brag to his War Boys too much. The body had not been pretty. Missing part of its head even. No one had known how an experienced driver like him could’ve crashed like that. They has suspected a Buzzard sniper, but had never found the bullet in the guy’s brain chunks.

“But Immortan Joe’s dead!” protests Cheedo.

“Yeah, and you’ve replaced him. Whomever you chose to bed, they’ll be a danger to you, either directly or by being a weakness for someone else to exploit.”

The Fragile looks mutinous, and Furiosa wonders if there is a lucky kitchen boy.

“If it’s serious, we’ll adapt. Get them protected,” she concedes.

She picked them well, so it’s easy for the Sisters to forget about them, but there are War Boys shadowing them wherever they go. There hasn’t been any attempt on their life yet, but it’s a question of when, not if. Spies inside the Citadel, at the Bullet Farm, and at Gastown, report plots in progress every other week. She smothered a few worrying ones in the egg in the Citadel, but her network doesn’t reach quite as far outside of it.

She reminds the Sisters of it, and the conversation moves on to diplomatic visits they are due to their neighbours, and what deals they will try to negotiate. To Furiosa’s relief, no one brings up Max again.


	4. Chapter 4

Hauling a queen size mattress back to the hole in the ceiling is not an easy task, even with Bambi’s help. The War Boys keep getting distracted by all the other things they could bring back too, often stopping to exclaim over riches beyond anything they have ever seen before. It is hard to blame them for it, and it gives Max’s back and leg a rest.

They are making such a stop when Sharp suddenly drops his end of the mattress and goes:

“Ooooooh! Bambi, look!”

He stopped in front of a bridal shop, and Max briefly ponders if it is the woman in him making itself known. Not that he even believes that women inherently like frilly white dresses, but still, what a strange reaction! Bambi though has propped the mattress on a wall and has approached. Sharp’s flashlight is illumination a majestic white dress with plenty of shimmering sequins. The skirt puffs large and imposing, and transparent lace outlines the bodice and bottom hem.

“This so chrome,” whispers Bambi, reverent.

“The crew will love it.”

“We can make ten outfits out of that much fabric.”

“Yeah, and it’s white like the Sisters wear, too.”

Bambi lets his beam travel in the window and stops on a royal blue formal dress.

“Sharp! That’s your colour!”

“Schlanger! It is!”

They both turn to Max with puppy eyes. How they know how to make the face when they have never even seen a dog is beyond Max, but damn it, they nail it perfectly. He nods and grunts, and leads the way in the shop, where an old-fashioned, real bell, tinkles when they step in. The flashlights dance on the profusion of fabrics and colours, light catching and reflecting on the lace, glitter, silk. The War Boys are stopped in the door for a few seconds, contemplating.

“What’s this shop anyway?” asks Sharp.

“Yeah, who needs so much clothes stuff they can’t do anything in?” adds Bambi.

“To get married.”

“Married?”

There is confusion on both the gazes fixed on him, and Max sighs.

“Wedding. When you like someone a lot… A lot! And they like you back. When you want to spend your life together… Well, you can make it, err, official. With a party. That’s the name of the party: a wedding. And you wear…”

Max gestures to the shop and let his sentence dies. That was a lot of words. There is a moment of silence as the War Boys take the new information in.

“So, more like crew or more like the Boss and you?”

It is Sharp who just spoke, his eyes narrowed and watching Max, calm, curious, but a tad rueful too. It is several questions in one really, and Max is starting to understand that the name is maybe deserved for more than the sharpshooting skills.

Max evades with a shrug, hoping the heat he suddenly feels does not show on his cheeks. The Vuvalini are not the kind to marry anyway, and he doubts Furiosa is aware marriage is a thing beyond the grotesque simulacra orchestrated by Joe with his Wives. And even if the idea is pleasant, Max does not know if he has it in him to do it again. Once was painful enough when it ended, and the Citadel might carry hope, but it is still the Wasteland outside.

Sharp’s grin tells him his face probably talked for him anyway, but with a sensibility Max was not expecting, the War Boy turns away, refocusing his attention on a nearby dress. Once more, Max makes note to thank the Ace for his excellent choice of a team to send him out with.

“Hey, Bambi. Try this for me?”

The tall man turns to his friend, who is holding a sleek, glittery white sheath in, indeed, a size large enough to fit his stature.

“What, you want to… wedding me?” jokes Bambi.

“Who else, schlanger?” answers Sharp, tucking his flashlight under his arm and counting on his fingers as he goes:

“I like you a lot, I want to spend my half-life with you, I already sex you, I want everybody to know. Don’t you?”

There is a moment of silence, and things got serious suddenly. Sharp is looking uncertain now, and Bambi kind of stuck. Max is not sure what to do, and is starting to back away from the room when Bambi, standing next to him, grabs his shoulder:

“Max! How we do the wedding?”

“Err…”

“Can we do it now?” he adds, shaking Max by his shoulder.

“Bambi! Let the feral go.”

Sharp sounds worried, and Bambi immediately takes a few steps back, which Max is grateful for, because his twitching left hand was resting on his gun, and he is sweating more than the temperature calls for.

“Ha. Sorry Max.”

That is actually Sharp speaking, hand similarly on the butt of his handgun, still holstered. It takes a moment for Max to remember that ‘feral’ is not a nice word at the Citadel, and to understand what Sharp is saying sorry for. Showing his empty hands, palms away from his body, Max answers:

“I’m jumpy sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all,” says Sharp, fingers relaxing away from his firearm.

“Kinda excited, me,” Bambi tells Max sotto voce, all confidence like, and Max accepts the apology with a smile.

Turning to Sharp, Bambi adds: “It’s the chromest thing anyone ever told me, Sharp.”

Then, back to Max, but this time from a respectful step away:

“How do we wedding, Max?”

“Err…”

It is probably not the time to break the news about the lack of civil servants or priests nearby. Or a government and church for that matter.

“You, er, gather friends, have good food, wear nice clothes. Party. Get matching bands after, to show people you got a wedding.”

Max shows his ring finger.

“Like jewelry?”

The word sounds slightly foreign in Sharp’s mouth, but the concept clearly is understood and Max nods.

“That’s stupid. Bambi can’t wear stuff like that in the garage.”

“Would tattoos work?” offers the taller War Boy.

“Whatever you agree on, really.”

Sharp nods:

“Tattoos are good. Now pick something you like Bambi. I have a blue dress to get.”


	5. Chapter 5

When they are finally – finally! – out of the mall, it is with a lot more things than they came for. Thankfully, the pickup truck allows for quite some piling on. As is, the two War Boys will have to ride in the passenger seat. Despite how long it took, Max is content, if less vocal about it than the two excited men next to him. He even managed to sneak a few things in his rucksack unknowingly from his escort. Nice things to complement his gift of a mattress to Furiosa, some things to put in their shared space, and even some underwear for himself.

 

The drive back is uneventful, save for the continuous chatter from Bambi and Sharp, who are discussing all the things they will do with the dresses and other things they picked up. Listening to them plan a wedding with no idea of what it is is quite entertaining, really, and Max contributes assent or refusal with groans here and there, but otherwise tries not to get involved. After all, it is also an opportunity to start from scratch, free of some of the assumptions and prejudices from the past: Bambi and Sharp do discuss at some point if their wedding should involve one more of their crew member who apparently shares their bed quite often but “doesn’t like us like we like each other.” Max learns a little too much about War Boys’ sexuality, but also picks up on a lot of internal politics and culture than he would have expected it. Apparently Joe did not control them as much as it looked like, and there is a set of customs and rituals in place that are by and for War Boys only, independent of other influences. A lot of it deals with crew relationships, who gets to sleep where, and how to mourn a departed comrade when the official policy is to never show weakness.

 

When they get back to the citadel, they take a back entrance to try and keep it discreet, but still some Citizens crowd them curiously. Thankfully, Sharp got it covered, and distributes clothes and practical things – bowls, water bottles, etc. – here and there to ease their passage. They make it to the garage relatively unnoticed, and there the Ace and a team of War Pups are waiting for them. Clearly, the Ace knew they would come back with more than they had set out for. He is not even surprised of how late behind schedule they are. When Max parks and steps out of the pickup, the Ace ambles over to him, leaving to Bambi and Sharp the care of dispatching the goods to the Pups.

“How’d you get in?”

“Knocked down a wall. Bambi did.”

So it was a test too. To see if the feral could succeed where others had hesitated. To see if the feral could be useful, and knew how to share. No doubt that Sharp was equally advised to put him down should he show signs of stealing the car or going crazy. Max’s escort is now approaching, Bambi carrying a white wedding dress and the blue formal dress from the window over his arm. The Ace raises his eyebrows a tad but doesn’t comment.

“How’d it go?” he asks instead.

“Chrome,” answers Sharp, before starting a complete retelling of the expedition, tactfully omitting to mention the moment Max almost went feral on them.

“And then Max explained stuff about the Old World, how people wore underwear, and did weddings, and now Bambi and I will do it.”

The Ace seems to know about both underwear and weddings, because the part of his face that is not paralyzed shows no surprise, and the corner of his mouth shows a hint of a smile:

“Let me know when you want the party, and I’ll talk to the kitchens.”

The joy on both their faces is worth it, and the Ace looks happy too. He taps Max lightly on the shoulder, gone too fast to spook him, and tells him “Good job” before leaving them to look over the truck being parked elsewhere.

“You need help with that?”

Sharp is pointing to the mattress, propped against a wall in a corner. Truth is, Max has no idea how he is going to get it to Furiosa’s room, seeing how the tiny secret hallways leading them have spots too narrow for it to fit.

“Got a window, your room?”

That is Sharp again, clearly knowing this mattress is not going to Furiosa’s official bedroom.

“Yeah.”

Sharp goes and ruffles through equipment, coming back with a coil or rope.

“Bambi, go put the dresses in our spot, and bring back extra ropes.”

“Got it, Sharp.”

The tall War Boy walks away, perfectly fine with having clearly been dismissed.

“Now, Max, you just tell me which wall to be on the bottom off. Have the rope hanging all the way to the ground, and we won’t look up. If the Boss has a secret spot, better no one knows about it.”

Clever man, this Sharp, thinks Max, and still loyal to Furiosa. Max had it all wrong, thinking him the weakest. The two War Boys have a good dynamic going on, with skills completing each other. As he explains to Sharp where to go, he finds himself hoping that he is to Furiosa what Sharp is to Bambi: an equal in a partnership.


	6. Chapter 6

When Furiosa comes to the mess hall for dinner, she finds Max flanked by Sharp and Bambi, the Ace sitting in front of them. The Ace has his laughing face on – though it is probably only obvious for those who know him. Sharp is showing something to Max, a drawing of some kind that he is modifying as he talks. Max is shaking his head and as Furiosa comes closer, she hears him make a no-no groan. Bambi is the first to spot her, and hollers:

“Boss! You eating with us?”

She glances as the Ace, who nods slightly. She still hasn’t forgiven herself for betraying him, but he seems to be okay with it.

“Sure.”

She sits next to the Ace, in front of Max, who smiles at her, then immediately blushes and looks back down to the table. The man needs to work on his shyness.

“What’s up, Boss?” asks the Ace.

She shrugs:

“The usual. Crops to come, how much the harvest will yield, who gets to eat what. The War Boys being idiots.”

The two War Boys chuckle at that, and Furiosa smiles at them. She used to say that whenever someone – never their crew, she picked them too well for that – made some foolish ruckus.

“What about you? You went out today?”

She went down to the garage after breakfast, looking for Max and his map, but the head of the black thumbs told him he was out on a run. The new proximity between Sharp, Bambi, and Max would only come from an outing together: Max keeps to himself when it comes to the War Boys, and she cannot blame him for it knowing he was a blood bag for weeks.

When Max fails to answer her question, Sharp excitedly says:

“We went to the Mall for a ma…” a yelp, and Sharp falls silent while Bambi yells to Furiosa:

“Careful with the soup, Boss, it’s hot!”

Furiosa considers her bowl for a second, gently blows on the liquid in her spoon and put it in her mouth. The soup – lentils and some greens – is barely lukewarm.

“Ah. Thanks, Bambi. Sharp?”

“Yeah. We went to the mall on a supply run.”

“But it’s been cleaned out last time?”

This time it’s the Ace who intervenes:

“I suspected Max would be able to do something about the blocked way.”

The Ace asked Max to go? Last she heard, they tolerated each other, but barely.

“And?” she encourages the boys.

“Bambi knocked down a wall!” says Sharp, awed and proud.

“T’was pretty chrome,” grumbles Max, and Bambi preens, companionably knocking shoulders with the man.

“There was this wedding shop! Sharp and I are getting married.”

Furiosa goes reeling for a second, remembering the gross ceremony she was subjected to when she was first brought to the Citadel and ‘married’ to Joe. A foot knocks her ankle, bringing her out of the flashback. Max shakes his head in a no motion and, to the group, says:

“We’re talking about what design to pick for matching tattoos.”

“Yeah. Bambi and I we can’t do the rings, seeing how Bambi works in the garage,” explains Sharp.

Furiosa, at a loss for word, smiles and says:

“Ah?”

Follows a long debate on design choices – the first drafts are a little too violent or not very positive, revolving around ‘till our tumors do us part.’ Another issue is how Sharp’s dark skin won’t show ink like Bambi’s pale one, and how Bambi’s freckles are to take into account for shoulder and back designs. They also both already have limited space on their skin, between previous designs and scars.

“Hey,” interrupts Furiosa after a while. The group falls silent, looking to her. Sometimes it is good to have been the one to lead these men into war: they listen to you.

“Give me your left hands.”

Bambi and Sharp immediately lay their arms on the table. Furiosa uses her flesh hand to reach for them, successively flipping their hands palm up and lightly tapping the spot where the wrist becomes the hand. As she expected, both spots are empty: War Boys ink or scar themselves for the rest of the world to see, and don’t have much on the inside of the arms.

“How about something small here?”

The War Boys exchange a glance.

“But it’s for others to see, no?” asks Bambi.

Furiosa smiles. She remembers how some Vuvalini would pair up sometimes, and get their partner’s name tattooed somewhere private for no one’s eyes but those of the person they had chosen. It was rarely men’s names, but Mary Jo Bassa had had ‘John’ on her right hip.

“Sometimes,” she says slowly, “it’s just for the other one to see. And if it matches, people will notice, eventually.”

“Sharp, what do you do?” asks Max, suddenly.

“I, euh, I’m a War Boy?”

Max shakes his head, not satisfied.

“Bambi works in the garage. What do you do?”

“Ah! I’m a mechanic too. But small things. Like that.”

Sharp points to Furiosa’s arm.

Max makes a little groan to show he heard, but his hands are already busy reaching for the piece of paper Sharp had been showing him earlier. Flipping him over, he finds an empty space and, using a needle he slid out of an inside pocket of his jacket, he nabs his finger and starts sketching something.

A minute later, there are two gears whose teeth interlock on the paper, one daintier than the other but both sturdy.

“Oh! That’s me and Sharp!”

“So brioche!”

Just like that, Sharp snags the drawing from under Max hands, carefully folds it, and pockets it before grabbing his bowl and spoon, ready to take off.

“Come on Bambi, we gotta plan.”

Bambi slurps the rest of his soup, and follows suite. Right before running after Sharp, who’s already handing in his empty dinnerware, he says: “Thanks, Max!” and briefly hugs the man. Stunned for a minute, the man blinks, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, a look quite reminiscent of the first times he would wake up by Furiosa’s side, like he can’t quite believe it. It sends a rush of heat to her gut, not arousal, but soft and precious all the same, like when the Ace would take time to check on all the War Boys on their crew.

“Got yourself friends for life.”

It is the Ace, gruffly thanking Max for what he just did. The older man finally unfreeze, a shy happiness on his face:

“Good ones too,” he confirms, and that is all he contributes for the rest of the evening.

 


	7. Chapter 7

When it comes time to sleep, Furiosa does not even pretend to head for her official room, going instead for the nearest passage, happy to see that Max follows closely. She is tired and aches to take off her prosthesis. The day has been a long one, overseeing crops she does not know much of, trying to do what is right for hundreds when she barely cared for a dozen before, and let’s not mention getting quizzed on intimacy with Max.

She is so tired she does not notice anything when she first steps into their room and lights the candles. She is taking off her arm when Max’s immobility tips her off. He is stopped in the doorway, waiting for something. She looks around the room this time, and now notices a few things: a drawing with wood at the edge, hanging on the wall. A colourful cushion on the ground by the window, where she likes to read by daylight. The pile of clothes she owns has something new, soft looking and green, folded on top. Furiosa walks in the room more fully, not sure what to pick up and examine first. She is turning around, back to look at Max, when the sight of the alcove stops her. The cushions they use as a mattress are overflowing. Did Max brought more back from his run? Drawn to how comfortable it looks, she steps to it, pushing the pillows with her flesh hand – it is the cleaner one right now. At first she thinks it is maybe a bigger pillow but then she realizes: it is an _actual_ mattress! Nothing like the ratty, tired one in her official bedroom. She hasn’t seen one like that since… She is unsure really. Maybe that time she went to the Bullet Farm on a run and the People Eater, this creep, had received her in his bed. And she has not slept on such a good mattress ever. Even as a Wife, the mattresses had been cobbled together from scrap materials.

“This is… Max… Why?”

“M’not young anymore. My back can’t take you hogging the pillows ev’ry night.”

Furiosa want to fake offense, but even that she cannot muster: she _is_ a pillow hugger. She likes to nest.

She also likes how Max is clearly settling in the space, _their_ space. Adding touches. She knows they are gifts and that they would disappear if she said she did not like them (except maybe the mattress, she is not that powerful), but still, he picked those things.

“Come on, I want to test that bed.”

Furiosa gestures with her flesh hand for Max to come help her with her belts, and they make quick work of it, and even quicker work of washing up in the finally functional water room (there are towels there, and a fresh-scenting soap, and where the Joe did Max find all of that?!). Furiosa steps back in the main room, heads for her pile of clothes, and picks up her usual nightshirt. She is about to put it on when Max gently tugs it out of her hand. Instead, he holds up the green piece of clothing she glimpsed at. It is a simple tshirt, short-sleeved, actually white with a pastel green pattern of leafs like they can only grow in the Tropical Greenhouse. When she touches it, it is soft cotton, and the folds show a bit but get smoothed out under her hand. When she brings it to her face, it smells like the soap they just used in the washroom: Max washed it first. She does not have words, right now, and Max seems happy with that, silently helping her into the shirt before presenting matching shorts. Feeling like her greyish, darned panties wouldn’t do the new clothes honour, Furiosa drops them altogether, pushing them down her legs, and stepping out of them. Glancing up at Max, she grins at the flush spreading on his collarbone, and steps in the shorts he is holding out for her, and if the hand she rests on his shoulder is less for equilibrium than for the heat of his blush there, she is the only one to know.

Once clothed, she takes a moment to smooth out the fabric on herself, touching how soft it is, a far cry from the rough fabric they spun at the Citadel, which you have to wash and wear dozens of times before it feels yours. When she looks back up to Max, he has put on a clean, new tee shirt as well. It is a boring, uniform light grey, but it shows off the healthy tan on his skin. He shaved too, she notices, and…

“Is that new underwear?”

Max flushes a deeper red and nods, toying with the waistband of his black boxers. Slowly, Furiosa circles him, looking at him anew: the power in his calves despite the scar on his left leg, his round, shapely bum hugged by the brand new fabric, how he fills the shirt in the shoulders – and in the belly too, regular meals have been good to him. He looks good. He looks like everything Vuvalinis used to look for in a mate. Granted, they would usually share beds for a few nights only, hoping more for a good gene pool than a father, but still, seeing him like that makes something in her purr contently.

Max brings her back to the present by gently taking her by the hand and leading her to the bed. He climbs in first, pulling her after him, scooting back to leave her room. The mattress isn’t exactly the right size, so Max has stuffed the spaces on the edges with pillows, to make sure it wouldn’t move. As Furiosa tests the give and take of the material, Max unfolds a blanket – white with a pattern of colourful triangles, squares, circles, and other shapes. He nestles underneath it, wiggling until he is comfortable, before holding out a corner for her to join him underneath. Knowing she won’t have the courage to get up again after she accepts that invitation, Furiosa quickly jumps off the bed and goes to blow the candles before she slips back in the bed, snuggling close to Max as he wraps the blanket around the both of them. For a long moment, Furiosa can only lie there and enjoy, guts going tight as the rest of her body relaxes in the heat Max gives off, in the non-constraining embrace of his arms around her waist, in his patient silence.

Finally, voice a little tremulous, she whispers:

“Thank you.”

Her hand finds one of Max’s and she squeezes it. He squeezes it back and they fall asleep like that shortly after.


End file.
